When He Knows You Can't See Him
by AsteraceaeBlue
Summary: This latest success in driving her train to spinsterhood would be his last, come hell or high water. *Slight spoilers from the S3 promo pics*


**PLEASE READ: In an effort to synch my AO3, Tumblr, and FF accounts, I am changing my pen name on this site to AsteraceaeBlue. Any notifications you get from me in the future will be from that name.**

**Hope you all like this one :)**

* * *

**When He Knows You Can't See Him**

The number of people in the park near St. Bart's Hospital had diminished as the winter months descended, though a few souls still walked briskly through the carefully tended area on their way back from lunch. The looming grey clouds helped to keep the air warmer than it otherwise might have been, but it was still cold enough that next to no one lingered on the benches lining the paths.

It made Tom that much easier to spot as Molly walked along, gloved hands shoved deep into her coat pockets and her chin tucked into her scarf. They often met in the park, an easy rendezvous midway between her job and his. He gave her a small wave as she approached and she smiled cheerily back. Many people (it was mostly Mary) had commented on the man's resemblance to a certain consulting detective. To this day, she could not really see the similarity. Tall and strong-boned with dark hair, but beyond that the similarities were non-existent, in her opinion. Tom was timid until he got comfortable, and even then hesitated to be truly confident. He let her make most of the decisions. He was rather goofy, in an uncoordinated and unintentional way.

Bit like her, really.

He was incredibly even keel. His life was totally safe.

Bit not like her.

Whenever the thought had crept into her mind, she shoved it down with a repeated mantra that calm was good. He was just what she needed. Nothing was missing when they sat on the couch with cups of cocoa and watched the latest episode of _New Girl_ from across the pond. Wasn't that just what she wanted?

She loved him. He made her smile.

So she kept smiling as she joined him on the bench and he handed her a steaming cup of coffee, just the way he always did.

"Hullo," she said, leaning over to kiss him. "Thanks for the coffee. You could've just met me at Bart's, you know. It's a bit cold for a jaunt in the park."

"Yes, well…I think this might be a better place," he said slowly, pausing before he took a deep breath. "We need to talk."

Her smile dropped. She knew that tone, those words. Her lips pursed and she looked down, not wanting to see the gentle look in his face as he tried to break it to her with as little pain as possible. Too many times in her life she had been on the receiving end of this particular conversation and all she really needed to know from him was why.

"Have I done something wrong?" she asked tentatively, though she was almost sure the problem did not lie with her.

"No, Molly, you've been fantastic," he said, reaching out to lay a hand on her arm. "Really. I've had a great time with you. The thing is…the thing is, I generally prefer my relationships to consist of two people. Three's a tad crowded."

The heavy feeling in her stomach increased with his words and she was afraid to ask him to explain. Not that she needed an explanation.

"It's not been that bad," she said, trying to downplay his concerns.

"He texts you in the middle of the night," Tom reminded her. "He's always there, every time I try to visit you at work. I know you two have a history, that there's things you won't tell me about his 'death,' but -"

"It's to protect people, Tom, not because I don't want to tell you," she interrupted.

"I know, Molly, I know," he sighed. They'd had that conversation half a dozen times before. "But it's more than that. It's the way he is with you, like he's got priority… He knows more about you than I do, Molly."

"Like what?"

"Like how you take your coffee."

She looked down guiltily at the cardboard cup cradled between her hands.

"You never told me you don't take sugar. I had to find out when I ran into him in the canteen last week, bringing you an evening pick-me-up for your night shift. He 'corrected' me and smirked like I was the biggest idiot in the world."

"I'm sorry he did that, Tom."

"Why didn't you just tell me I had it wrong?"

"I loved that you thought to bring me coffee at all," she said earnestly, looking up at him. "You were always so pleased that I…I didn't have the heart to bring up something so unimportant."

"But those are the important things, Molly. Don't you understand that? That's what two people should know about each other. Why did I have to find out from _him_?"

"I don't know what to say," she said after a moment's silence. "He's that way with everyone. He just…_knows_. I'm not the only one."

"Yeah, I know, he's got an iron grip on John Watson, too, I've seen that… But it's different with you. I can't compete with him anymore. The way he knows you, the way he looks at you."

"Sherlock does not _look_ at me," she said firmly, nearly laughing at the idea. "You're off your trolley if you think he does."

If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that he'd never looked at her in any way that should make Tom feel he was competing.

Tom looked at her with a bit of pity and let out a little sigh.

"That's because you never see him," he told her, his voice quieting as he revealed what he knew was his losing hand. "When you're not looking…when he knows you can't see him."

Molly froze, her throat tightening and her heart stuttering uncomfortably in her chest. She had never spoken a word to anyone about what had transpired with Sherlock that day in Bart's. And he would never…at least, she was fairly certain he would never…

"What?..."

"I may not be the great consulting detective, but I know what that look means. He cares about you," Tom said, his expression far more understanding than she deserved. "And I know you care about him."

"I don't…I mean, I used to, but -"

"You still do. It's okay. I get it." His smile told her he wasn't lying, but, far from making her feel reassured, she only felt worse. "Listen, do me one favor, all right? At least make a go of it. Prove that I'm not completely off the mark, yeah?"

"Tom," she started, unable to find any more words to respond.

"Bye, Molly. Maybe I'll see you around sometime."

He kissed her on the cheek and stood up, turning in the direction he had come from and walking briskly away. She watched his retreating back, still too shocked to move. It was a tumult of emotions and thoughts that swept through her mind, the most prominent of which were relief, hope, and raging annoyance. Two of those were not directed at Tom.

She felt like the worst person in the world for feeling a weight lift from her shoulders at the thought that she would no longer have to remind herself of why Tom was such a sensible choice. It was awful to admit that sense of relief when she had been genuinely happy with him. But was it truly better to stay with him when her heart often drifted elsewhere?

Speaking of elsewhere…

That deducing, smug, meddling, secretive detective with his stupid cheekbones and surreptitious looks had a world of explaining to do. This latest success in driving her train to spinsterhood would be his last, come hell or high water. She knew there could be only two outcomes to the inevitable confrontation and she knew which one she selfishly preferred.

In her haste and irritation as she stood up, the coffee, forgotten in her hands, tumbled down and splashed spectacularly on her shoes, soaking her socks in warm liquid that would quickly turn cold and miserable on her walk back to the hospital. Molly took several deep breaths and clenched her hands, begging for strength.

* * *

Glass clinked together musically as Sherlock lowered a test tube to a flask and carefully added the contents. Abandoning the test tube in a wooden rack, he lifted the flask and gently swirled the liquid, his hands itching with excitement. In seconds, the clear, colorless liquid turned cloudy and white.

"Ah!"

He jotted down the reaction with a smile, looking forward to delivering the results to Lestrade and proving his point in the investigation – again. The final letter was just penned when he sniffed, smelling something other than the chemicals before him.

Honeysuckle and a hint of vanilla.

Molly.

He looked up and was startled to find her standing just feet from his kitchen table, looking windswept and vibrating with energy. It was a decidedly attractive look on her, despite the fact that she also appeared rather…pissed.

"How long have you been there?" he asked.

"Nearly a minute, not that you'd ever lift your nose out of your experiments to notice," she said crossly. "Your door was wide open."

His brow narrowed instantly and he catalogued her posture and tone. Not to mention the coffee stains on the cuffs of her trousers and shoes. Odd.

"Clearly I did notice," he said calmly, still trying to find the reason for her presence in his flat. "Why are you angry, Molly?"

"I'm not…oh sod it, yes I am angry, Sherlock," she cried, shifting her weight.

Pulling his mouth tight, he sat up straight and folded his hands in his lap, waiting to hear what rule he had broken at the lab this time that she'd had to handle. He found it best to let her rail, doing his best to remember the rules on his next visit.

"What's happened this time?" he asked.

"This time? _This time_? Sherlock, I cannot even begin to explain…he left me and, once again, it's your fault!"

That was not what he had been expecting. His mind worked double time to figure out what she was talking about.

Ah. The boyfriend.

Or perhaps ex-boyfriend, given what she had just said. He fought back the urge to let his mouth curl up in a satisfied smile. Her latest venture into dating had been a great deal better than others, but the man was still about as interesting as a doorknob. It was highly unlikely that Molly could possibly be happy for long in the relationship. Over the last several years, she had proved to be a most surprising and intriguing aspect in his life. The boyfriend only served to emphasize how superior she was and he had predicted it would come to an end. It wasn't a good match; that much was obvious to anyone with half a brain.

"My fault?" he inquired, resting his forearm on the table and leaning back to regard her. "How do you figure?"

"Because he _told me_!" she said forcefully, taking a step towards him. "He sat there and bloody told me he was ending it because of _you_. Not much detective work required on that one."

"What exactly am I supposed to have done to cause this?"

"To start with, most men don't take too kindly to another man texting in the middle of the night with a message that says 'I need you,'" she told him, adding what he thought was an unnecessarily suggestive tone to the words.

"At the lab. I needed you at the lab," he said honestly, annoyed that such a message would be misinterpreted.

"The meaning was lost on Tom, let me assure you of that."

"Then he's insecure in his relationship with you. Better for both of you that you went your separate ways."

If it had been John, Sherlock would have been worried that he was about to be slapped. The look on her face was positively murderous and the longer she glared at him the more concerned he grew. He didn't understand – she couldn't be unhappy that things had taken this turn. If she was upset, she would be at home drowning her sorrows in romantic comedies or drinking too much wine at a girlfriend's house. No, Molly was nowhere near heartbroken. Therefore, the problem lay with him.

"Do you wish to end our professional association, Molly?" he asked, pushing against the sudden fear that she might say yes. "Pass each other in the halls of Bart's as strangers?"

"No," she said quickly.

Her expression remained unsatisfied.

"Then what is it I am supposed to do? Some direction on your part would be most helpful," he said slowly, keeping his voice gentle.

"I know I can't keep doing this, Sherlock. I can't keep watching decent men walk away because they think… So I have just one question for you." She took a deep breath and looked him square in the eye. "Are you ever planning to shag me?"

"What?..."

"You heard me. Snogging, shagging, sharing a morning shower – any of those things on your radar at all?"

His vocal chords would not work. Just hearing those words from her did something to his body that he wasn't entirely sure didn't embarrass him.

The thought had crossed his mind once or twice, hastily brushed away when he returned to London and found her happily paired off. Her confidence was enough to convince him of her contentment for quite a while, until he began to observe more of the new relationship. She was bored. It was written clearly enough on her face whenever she was in the morgue.

When the seconds ticked by and he failed to come up with an answer for her, he watched the fire die in her eyes and her mouth set seriously.

"That's what I thought. Then stop, Sherlock. Just stop. Stop making my dates feel inferior, stop gazing at me in the lab when I'm not looking, and stop telling my boyfriends they've got my coffee wrong unless you plan on being the one to start getting it for me."

The silence that filled the flat after she stopped talking was terrible. His mouth opened but no sound would come out and he watched in horror as she reined in her emotions and looked at him blankly before turning to walk out.

_Move, dammit. Do something, do anything._

He leapt off the stool and reached out quickly, grabbing hold of her upper arm and halting her exit. What he planned to do next, he had no idea, but she stopped and turned around and that was all he needed for the moment. He looked down at her, not letting her eyes break from his.

"How do you know I gaze at you if you're not looking?"

When in doubt, stick to the facts. She blinked at him and shook her head slightly.

"Tom saw…saw you looking. I told him he was imagining things," she said, her voice softening and taking on a slightly nervous tone.

Sherlock licked his lips and simultaneously hated and celebrated that he had been caught. He'd not been careful, letting his guard down because the boyfriend had been so insignificant to him, below his notice. In all likelihood, he hadn't even been aware the man was in the lab with them half the time.

"He was not imagining."

Feeling the pleasant effects of her closeness, seeing the pink blush spread across her cheeks, Sherlock felt emboldened and did what he rarely allowed himself to do: he trusted his instincts. Molly's eyes widened rather comically as he leaned down, letting out a little cry of surprise when his lips pressed against hers. She went absolutely stiff and for a few moments he hung in limbo, quickly memorizing the incredibly delightful feeling of her lips and thinking it might be the only time he got to experience it. When her hand slid up his arm and pulled him closer, her mouth moving tantalizingly against his, the tension left his body and in seconds he had her wrapped fully in his arms.

The feeling was quite agreeable. Certainly one he could get used to.

Then her tongue was sliding along his bottom lip and his mouth opened to her and before he knew it he had her backed into the doorframe of the kitchen, whimpering as her fingers tangled in his hair. His hands snaked under her coat and wound tightly around her waist, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of her jumper. He contemplated what would happen if he let them dip under the hem to feel her skin. It would be warm, no doubt, in spite of the outside temperature, and soft as anything if her lips were any indication. The idea sent blood straight to his groin and he growled softly as she nipped at his lip.

She was the one to pull away, though she kept him close and made no move to break their embrace. Her ragged breathing matched his, her flushed lips inviting him to try more of what they had just been doing.

"I have to go back to the hospital," she said, her voice uncharacteristically husky.

"No," he replied firmly, tightening his hold on her.

"Yes," she said, giggling slightly. "I do, Sherlock – I left in the middle of my shift, I shouldn't even be here. Tullet is covering for me."

"Let her keep covering you, she needs the practice."

Molly shook her head and let her hands slide away from his hair, coming to rest on the front of his shirt. She watched her own fingers straighten out the fabric and toy with buttons for a moment. Then her bottom lip pulled between her teeth and her eyes raised to his becomingly, staring at him from beneath her lashes.

"I'm free tonight, though," she told him quietly.

The corner of his mouth pulled up slowly and he felt a giddy anticipation that usually only surfaced in cases. Unlike her invitation for coffee some five-odd years ago, he knew exactly what she was suggesting this time.

"How do you feel about physics experiments?" he asked.

Her mouth turned up in an amused smile and she shrugged.

"Fine," she said.

"Good. Meet me here at seven, on the roof. I've warned the neighbors this time. The last thing I need is their caterwauling, because afterwards…"

"Afterwards?" she pressed, trying to look casual and not eager at all.

Sherlock dipped his head again and caught her mouth in a quick, eager kiss before stepping away and returning to his work station.

"I'll leave you to your deductions," he said with a smile.

He could sense her hovering for a moment before he heard her light laugh and her retreating footsteps. His smile grew as he looked down to prepare the next portion of his experiment, looking forward to a night in for the first time in ages.


End file.
